


Phantom Limb

by pipisafoat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder never takes anything for himself on these nights, but Krycek never realizes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Limb

It's moments like these when he can almost forget Russia. When he can almost forget about the black sludge and the well-meaning natives and his abruptly missing arm. When he can almost believe that he and his tormentor are on the same side in this war, that he didn't make the choices he did, that he still has his fucking arm.

He doesn't know how Mulder always knows what nights he needs this. Needs the burn of a shoulder stretched too far, the pull of cuffs at his wrist, the ruthlessness of an unforgiving master - just one who cares about him, in the end. Sometimes when he shows up, Mulder pushed him onto the bed and fucks him, or straddles him and rides him, but these nights, he always knows better. He cuffs him to the bed, holds him down, tortures him mercilessly with lips, tongue, and teeth, and doesn't let him come for hours. Doesn't let him come until he's twisting against the cuffs, beyond words, writhing against the bondage of two arms instead of one. Until he's so far out of his mind that he doesn't know his name, doesn't know what sounds are words and what aren't, doesn't know that he only has the one arm left. And then, only then, when he's completely insane with lust, does Mulder take just the head of his cock into his mouth, sucks hard, presses that spot just behind his balls, and swallows down everything Krycek can give him.

Mulder never takes anything for himself on these nights, but Krycek never realizes that. He always passes out, gets a few more hours of blissful relief from the world the two men are trapped in, wakes up refreshed enough, sane enough, to go back to work for his own enemy, back to the very work that drives him to this need, this craving, this yearning that only Mulder can fulfill. And in the morning after these nights, before he walks out the door, Mulder presses a bagel and a to-go mug of home-brewed coffee into his hand and a gentle kiss to his forehead, and Krycek straightens his fake arm and pretends it doesn't bother him as much as it always does.


End file.
